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dn^Clitts^^. 


First  edition  published  October,  1902 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 


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"  *  Oh,  must  you,  aunty  ? '  wailed  Lydia  "  Frontispiece 

Facing  page 

"  She  threw  open  the  door,  letting  in  ...  a 

flurry  of  snowflakes  " 10 

" '  You  've  never  drunk  champagne  before  ? ' 

he  inquired" 30 

" '  Oh,  aunty,'  cried  the  girl,  springing  to 

her  feet" 60 

"  He  .  .  .  took  up  the  little  vase  of  violets, 

and  raised  them  to  his  face  "      .    .      96 

"  *  But  he  asks  if  he  may  call,'  Lydia  re- 
minded her  aunt  " 108 


OF  all  the  millions  who  at  one 
time  or  another  have  been 
compelled  to  burden  their 
memories  with  any  of  the  initials  and 
'figures  used  in  naming  the  streets  of 
New  York,  Lydia  Greenough  is  probably 
the  only  mortal  who  thoroughly  approves 
,  of  the  system.  Question  any  one  else 
as  to  its  wherefore,  and  he  or  she,  with 
either  a  moan  or  a  curse  (dependent,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  on  the  speaker's  sex),  would 
explain  that,  in  a  year  now  fading  from 


w 


¥ 


the  recollection  of  even  its  oldest  inhabi- 
tants, a  stupid  surveyor  and  a  foolish 
board  of  aldermen  fastened  upon  the  city 
of  New  York  a  method  of  street-number- 
ing of  surpassing  inconvenience,  which, 
with  other  moans  and  curses,  its  resi- 
dents and  its  transients  have  since  been 
forced  to  endure.  But  Lydia  maintains 
that  the  system  is  admirable,  and  if  the 
opportunity  to  plead  its  merits  were  but 
granted  her,  she  would  undoubtedly 
convince  at  least  the  masculine  half  of 
the  metropolis  that  she  is  right,  however 
wrong  the  system ;  which  is  merely  one 
way  of  saying  that  Lydia  is  young  and 
charming. 

It  was  by  the  veriest  chance  —  indeed, 
veriest  of  chances  —  that  the  much  ma- 


..-^"^«l 


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ligned  method  gained  this  powerful  ad- 
vocate. Lydia,  if  now  asked,  would 
doubtless  assert  and  beh'eve  that  it  was 
all  preordained,  and  never  could  have 
been  otherwise.  Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
if  on  that  Christmas  eve  a  wild  snow- 
storm had  not  been  driving  and  drifting  "^ 
through  the  misnumbered  streets,  it  never 
would  have  been.  Or,  if  Mrs.  Traverses 
maid  had  not  taken  to  her  bed  with  a 
quinsy  sore  throat,  it  never  would  have 
^  happened.  Or,  if  the  little  country  girl 
had  been  more  used  to  city  ways,  and 
had  stood  less  in  awe  of  the  liveried 
servants,  it  could  not  have  occurred.  In 
short,  but  for  half  a  dozen  contingencies. 
Miss  Greenough  would  have  completed 
her  visit  with  her  city  relatives,  and 


returned  home  to  settle  once  more  peace- 
fully into  the  life  of  her  native  New 
England  village,  with  never  a  thought  or 
even  a  dream  of  the  destiny  that  might 
have  been,  and  with  not  one  word  of 
defense  for  the  system  which  henceforth 
commanded  her  warmest  advocacy. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  Mrs. 
Travers's  arrangements  for  that  evening 
left  a  goodly  chance  for  Dame  Fortune 
to  intervene,  and  she  is  a  lady  who  sel- 
dom misses  an  opportunity,  be  it  golden 
or  otherwise. 

"It's  snowing  and  blowing  worse 
than  ever,"  she  announced,  —  not  Dame 
Fortune,  but  Mrs.  Travers,  —  sticking 
her  head  into  the  room  where  Lydia  was 
dressing,  "  and  it  really  seems  to  me  I  'd 


,k' 


better  telephone  Mrs.  Curtis  that  you 
can't  come." 

"Oh,  must  you,  aunty?*'  wailed 
Lydia,  her  mouth  drawn  with  disap- 
pointment. 
A  ^  jj  "  Do  you  truly  want  to  go  out  in  such 
^!  ')  ]  fearful  weather,  child  ? "  marveled  Mrs. 
Travers,  giving  a  little  shiver,  though  the 
room  was  warm.  "  It 's  only  a  dinner, 
after  all,  and  you  '11  surely  catch  a  fright- 
ful cold,  or  worse." 

**  Why,  aunty,  if  I  were  home,  I  'd 
probably  be  taking  a  sleigh-ride,  or  skat- 
ing," eagerly  asserted  the  girl,  "and  1 
never  catch  cold.  I  don't  believe  I  even, 
can.    Oh,  please,  please  let  me  go  1 " 

"  Well,  if  you  really  would  rather,  it 's 
very  much  better,  for  there  is  hardly 


,1 


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anything  worse  than  to  fail  a  hostess, 
though  I  presume  she'll  have  a  lot  of 
gaps,  anyway,  in  such  a  storm/'  Mrs. 
Travers  walked  to  the  window,  and  pull- 
I^W^^  IM  ing  aside  the  thick  curtain  and  the  shade, 
looked  out.  "  It 's  such  a  horrid  night, 
and  the  snow's  getting  so  deep,  that  I 
think  I  '11  telephone  Mrs.  Curtis,  after 
all,  and  —  " 

"Oh,  aunty!"  once  more  wailed 
Lydia. 

"  Wait,  child,  till  I  finish  1  Telephone 
her,  asking  if  you  may  not  spend  the 
night.  That  will  be  much  better  for  you, 
and  it  will  save  the  horses  from  being 
kept  waiting.  I  hate  to  have  them  out 
such  a  night,  and  if  Winwood  only  had 
the  common  decency  to  keep  well,  I  'd 


y: 


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1 

>-^^>>  have  had  a  carriage  from  the  livery-stable,  > 
A^A^  I  rather  than  expose  —  " 

"That  will  do  just  as  well,  aunty, 

"My  dear!  Do  you  think  Td  trust 
you  with  any  one  but  our  own  coachman, 
since  I  can't  send  my  maid  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not." 

"Gracious!  my  dear,  how  inexperi- 
enced you  are  ! "  sighed  her  aunt.  "  I 
must  go  and  telephone  first,  but  then 
I  '11  explain  to  you  why  it  would  n't  be 
right  or  proper." 

With  this  remark,  Mrs.  Travers  de- 
parted, leaving  her  niece  to  worry  over 
the  extent  of  her  ignorance  of  social 
conventions  while  she  went  on  with  her 
prinking 


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.^*>.^-^ 


This  most  important  and  fascinatingf 
employment  was  brought  to  a  finish  just 
as  Mrs.  Travers  returned.  "Yes,  child, 
it 's  all  right,"  was  her  announcement  as 
she  entered  the  room;  ''so  put  what 
you  '11  need  for  the  night  into  a  bag. 
It's  too  bad  Winwood  is  n't  here  to  do 
it  for  you.    These  modern  servants  I '' 

"  She  'd  only  be  in  my  way,"  declared 
the  girl,  busy  with  the  packing.  "  I  'd 
much  rather  do  it  myself." 

"  And  you  look  beautiful,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Travers.  '"  How  can  you  do 
your  hair  so  prettily  without  a  maid  ?  " 

"But  I  have  a  maid,  aunty,"  laughed 
Lydia,  merrily,  "  and  one,  moreover,  who 
takes  much  greater  pains  to  make  me 
look  nice  than  any  one  else  possibly 


im 


9 

could.  There  I  Do  you  think  Winwood 
could  have  done  that  any  quicker?" 
she  ended,  holding  up  the  bag. 

"  Winwood  I  Why,  Lydia,  she  simply 
breathes  idleness.  If  you  only  knew  how 
I  am  tried  and  —  but  there,  I  mustn't 
begin  on  that,  for  it  would  take  hours, 
and  you  must  be  starting,  for  it  will 
take  longer  than  usual  to  drive  there 
because  of  the  drifts,  and  then  I  don't 
want  the  horses  to  be  kept  waiting  a  ^ 
moment  longer  than  need  be." 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  number  ?  " 
asked  Lydia,  hurriedly  putting  on  her 
wrap. 

"19  West  Seventy  —  there,  that's 
what  I'm  always  doing  I  I  say  East 
when  I  mean  West,  and  West  when  I 


mean  East.  Mrs.  Curtis  lives  at  19  East 
—  no,  no,  child,"  she  broke  in,  *'  don't  ^ 
you  carry  the  bag;  of  course  Morland 
must  bring  it  down.    Ring  twice,  as  I 
have  told  you." 

"I  'm  sorry,  aunty,  but  it's  so  hard  to 
get  used  to  being  waited  on,''  apologized 
the  girl,  as  she  obeyed  Mrs.  Travers's 
instructions.  "And  it  really  takes  more 
time ;  you  know  it  does." 

"But  we  must  keep  them  busy,  or 
they  are  simply  ruined.  Take  Miss 
Greenough's  bag  to  the  carriage,"  she 
ordered,  once  the  servant  arrived,  and 
then  led  the  way  downstairs. 

"You  didn't  finish  giving  me  Mrs. 
Curtis's  address,  aunty,"  Lydia  reminded 
her,  as  they  descended. 


«.3»yTVM      ->\ 


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*'0h,  yes.  19  East  Seventy — now/ 
did  I  say  Seventy-second  or  Seventy- 
third  when  I  read  you  her  note  this 
morning?" 

*'  I  am  certain  you  said  Seventy-second, 
because  I  remember  thinking  that  four 
times  eighteen  is  seventy-two,  and  so  I 
only  had  to  take  my  own  age  and  mul- 
tiply it  by  four." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  and  I  ought  to 
have  known  it,  for  Mrs.  Washburn  lives 
at  19  West  Seventy-third,  so  of  course 
it  must  be  Seventy-second.  Well,  kiss 
me  good  night,  my  dear.  I  hope  the 
first  dinner  will  be  everything  that  you 
—  why,  how  you  are  shaking,  child  I  " 

"  It 's  only  excitement,  aunty.  Were  n't 
you  frightened  and  nervous  and  eager 


and  —  oh  —  everything  over  your  first 
dinner-party  ?  " 

Mrs.  Travers  smiled.  "It's  so  long 
ago  I've  even  forgotten,  Lydia.  But 
don't  mention  dinner-parties  or  any 
other  parties  to-night.  There  are  din- 
ners and  dances  and  receptions  in  New 
York,  but  never  parties.  Every  one  will 
know  you  are  from  the  country  if  you 
speak  of  parties." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  you  told  me,  and  I 
do  hope  I  '11  remember,"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  with  an  alarm  in  her  voice  sugges- 
tive of  murder  or  arson  rather  than  a  fear 
of  recognition  of  mere  country  breeding. 
"  Is  there  anything  else  I  should  n't  do  ?  " 

"Here's  Morland  to  put  you  in  the 
carriage,  and  the  horses  must  n't  be  kept 


rTr\ 


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waiting-,"  answered  her  aunt.  "Don't 
worry,  my  dear,"  siie  added  in  a  whisper. 
A  girl  can  do  nothing  amiss  if  she  only 
—  "  Mrs.  Travers  artfully  paused  to  kiss 
her  niece  twice,  and  then  ended,  **  only 
is  as  pretty  as  you  are." 

Preceded  by  the  footman,  and  well- 
nigh  swept  oflf  her  feet  by  the  wind, 
Lydia  went  down  the  steps  as  quickly  as 
possible,  and  entered  the  carriage.  The 
servant,  after  placing  the  bag  beside  her, 
tucked  the  fur  rug  carefully  about  her 
feet,  and  then  asked: 

*'  Where  to,  Miss  Greenough  ?  '* 

"  Oh,  I  forgot.  Thank  you,  Morland. 
To  —  to  19  West  Seventy-second, 
please." 

The  door  slammed,  and  with  an  effort 


\Y\' 


I 


that  tested  the  goodness  of  the  harness, 
the  horses  started  on  their  toilsome  drag 
through  the  drifts.  Lydia,  trembling 
half  with  the  cold  and  half  with  excite- 
ment, tried  to  lean  back,  but  the  carriage 
rocked  and  jounced  to  such  an  extent  as 
to  make  the  position  impossible,  and  so, 
sitting  well  forward  and  holding  the 
arm-slings  tightly,  she  steadied  herself  as 
best  she  could. 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  cogitated,  "  I  must 
not  say  *  Yes,  sir,'  or  *  Yes,  ma'am,'  to  any 
one,  and  I  must  n't  thank  the  servants 
when  they  pass  me  things,  but  just  say 
*  Yes,'  or  *  Not  any,'  and  I  must  n't  speak 
of  parties,  and  —  oh,  dear  I  I'm  sure 
aunty  told  me  something  else  I  was  not 
to  do  I    Oh,  yes ;  I  must  always  say  *  a 


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friend/  or  *  a  man/  or  *  a  woman/  or  *  a 
girl/  but  never  *  a  lady  friend '  or  *  a  gen- 
tleman friend/  for  that 's  the  way  shop- 
girls and  servants  talk/' 

With  such  thoughts  and  worries  the 
girl  sped  the  slow  drive,  or  rather  jolt, 
for  such  in  truth  it  was.  Twice  the 
halting  of  the  carriage  made  her  think  the 
destination  was  attained,  but  each  time 
one  glance  out  of  the  window  served  to 
show  her  that  they  were  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  the  pause  was  merely 
to  breathe  the  horses.  At  last,  however, 
after  a  third  halt  and  then  a  series  of 
backings  and  advances,  they  brought 
up  close  to  the  curb,  with  a  final  jar 
that  seemed  to  declare  an  intention  of 
never  again  departing  from  that  spot. 


^^ 


i 


With  a  quickness  born  of  both  her 

own  impatience  and  her  aunt's  fear  for 

the  horses,  Lydia  threw  open  the  door 

and  alighted.    Although  the  wind  had 

swept  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  house 

fairly  clean  of  snow,  yet  the  suspicions 

of  a  more  experienced  diner-out  would 

have  been  instantly  awakened,  for  there 

was  no  man  awaiting  the  carriages,  no 

awning  or  even  carpet,  and,  most  telltale 

of  all,  the  flight  of  steps  was  but  a  smooth 

slide  of  snow.    But  the  country-bred 

girl  gave  not  one  thought  to  any  one  of 

these  eloquent  facts,  and  intent  only  on 

pleasing  Mrs.  Travers  by  not  keeping  the 

horses  standing,  she  hurriedly  closed  the 

door,  and  said,  "  That 's  all,  thank  you, 

Thomas." 


Hi 


n 

"An'  what  time  shall  I  call  for  yez, 
miss?''  questioned  the  coachman,  the 
words  coming  faintly  through  his  thick 
fur  collar. 

"  You  are  not  to  come  for  me,  Thomas, 
for  I'm  to  spend  the  night  here  with 
Mrs.  Curtis." 

As  the  carriage  turned  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  street,  Lydia  crossed  the 
sidewalk,  and  not  without  a  struggle, 
for  her  gloves,  fan,  bag,  and  skirts 
took  both  her  hands,  slowly  waded, 
more  than  climbed,  the  snow-laden 
steps. 

No  response  came  to  her  first  ring,  or 
to  her  second  one,  but  her  third  proved 
an  open  sesame,  for  the  door  was  swung 
back  by  a  man-servant,  who  appeared 


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A 


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somewhat  startled  or  surprised  when 
Lydia  stepped  into  the  hall. 

His  face  and  manner  made  this  so 
evident  that  it  could  not  escape  Lydia's 
observation;  but  before  she  could  de- 
termine what  it  meant,  she  saw  his  eyes, 
which  were  wandering  over  her,  fasten 
with  real  amazement  on  the  bag  in  her 
hand. 

''  Mrs.  Curtis  knows  that  —  my  aunt 
telephoned  Mrs.  Curtis,  asking  if  I  might 
spend  the  night,"  she  hurriedly  explained. 

The  servant,  who  still  held  open  the 
door,  blinked  at  her.  "Whodishyou- 
shay?"  he  asked,  with  a  manner  curiously 
mixing  an  attempt  at  dignity  and  an 
intense  friendliness. 

"My  aunt,  Mrs.  Travers;   and   Mrs. 


Curtis  answered  that  I  might/'  responded 
Lydia,  vaguely  anxious. 

Still  with  dignity,  somewhat  lessened 
by  an  obvious  leaning  upon  the  handle, 
the  man  slowly  closed  the  door.  The 
difficult  feat  accomplished,  he  said, 
"  Shidown,"  accompanying  the  recom- 
mendation with  a  sweeping  motion  of 
his  arm  toward  the  hall  settle,  which 
made  him  stagger.  "Shidown,  an' Til 
ashk  Misher  Murshon." 

"Who  is  he ?"  interrogated  the  girl, 
frightened  into  a  direct  question. 

"  Misher  Murshon  ?    Who'sh  Misher 
Murshon?''  echoed  the  man,  so  incred-- 
ulously  as  to  make  Lydia  fear  she  had 
committed  some  unpardonable  social  slip 
or  was  declaring  her   country    origin.. 


^^ 


,nt 


Then  he  smiled  —  in  fact,  beamed  — 
upon  Lydia,  as,  answering  his  own  ques- 
tion, he  continued,  ''  Misher  Murshon  's 
fmesh  of  men/' 

"  I  don't  understand  —  there  must  be 
some  mistake.  Is  n't  this  Mrs.  Curtis's  ?" 

"  I  shaid  this  Misher  Murshon's." 

"  No,  you  did  n't,"  denied  Lydia,  des- 
perate with  fright.  "  What  number  is 
it?" 

"Number?"  repeated  the  man,  fog- 
gily, much  as  if  the  girl  had  propounded 
a  conundrum. 

"  Yes.    What  number  is  this  house  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yesh ;  number,"  he  replied, 
once  more  smiling.  "  Thish  19  Wesh 
Sheventy-shecond." 

"Oh,"  moaned  Lydia,  sinking  back 


on  the  settle,  "and  I  told  Thomas  19 
East  Seventy-second  I  And  now  1  'II  be 
late  to  the  dinner,  and  aunty  said  there 
was  nothing  worse  I  "  As  this  thought 
flashed  into  her  mind,  she  sprang  up,  and 
catching  at  the  handle  of  the  door,  threw 
it  open,  letting  in  a  wild  burst  of  wind, 
which  brought  with  it  a  flurry  of  snow- 
flakes.  "  Oh,  the  carriage  is  gone  1 ''  she 
cried  despairingly.  "  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Shidown,  shidown,"  reiterated  the  ^ 
servant.      "  Misher    Murshon  '11    know 
whatsh  do.    Ish  all  right."    Turning,  he 
walked  along  the  hallway,  steadying  him- 
self, as  he  went,  by  a  hand  on  the  wall, , 
until  he  disappeared  through  a  doorway. 

Had  Lydia  been  more  versed  in  this 
world,  she  would  have  seized  thisoppor- 


m 


tunity  to  escape  into  the  street,  even 
though  her  foot  gear  consisted  of  slippers 
and  worsted  overshoes,  and  her  gov^n 
and  wraps  were  absolutely  unfitted  for 
the  storm.  As  it  was,  she  closed  the 
door,  and  stood  waiting  the  return  of 
the  man,  with  the  courage  of  ignorance 
and  of  necessity. 

The  first  development  was  not  of  a 
character  to  lessen  her  anxiety. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Richards,  by 
getting  into  this  state  ? "  demanded  a 
gruff  masculine  voice,  angrily. 

No  reply  reached  the  ears  straining  so 
eagerly  to  hear,  but  one  was  evidently 
essayed,  for,  after  a  slight  pause,  the 
same  v6ice  continued: 

Nonsense  I      You  are  not  in  a  fit 


^m). 


^) 


n^ 


m 


^^<Q  7  condition  to  do  your  duties,  and  you 
needn't  try  to  hide  it.  You  ve  taken 
advantage  of  my  helplessness,  and  my 
having  to  trust  the  keys  to  you." 

Once  more  the  angry  voice  ceased, 
and  a  moment's  stillness  ensued ;  then  it 
began  again : 
y  "  If  you  are  not  tipsy,  v^hy  can't 
you  tell  me  what  it  is  you  are  trying  to 
explain  ?  " 

The  longest  time  of  apparent  silence 
followed,  terminated  finally  by  the  same 
speaker,  who,  in  a  far  louder  but  no  less 
^  angry  voice,  called : 

"Will  who  ever  is  out  there  please 
come  in  here?'' 

Lydia  faltered  and  flushed  and  paled 
before  she  could  screw  her  courage  to 


J^:^ 


^^ 


^f^ 


the  acting-point ;  but  some  proceeding 
was  necessary,  and  after  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation she  hurried  along  the  hallway  and 
passed  through  the  door.  It  was  a  som- 
ber-looking room  that  she  entered,  un- 
lighted  save  by  a  smoldering  wood  fire, 
and  by  a  single  oil-lamp,  so  shaded  as  to 
cast  its  rays  only  on  a  book  in  the  hands 
of  some  one  lying  on  a  lounge. 

"Zish  ish  zhe  young  laish,  Misher 
Murshon,"  announced  the  servant,  whose 
figure  the  girl  could  just  make  out  in  the 
gloom  as  she  entered. 

The  recumbent  person  made  a  move- 
ment, as,  in  the  now  familiar  accents,  he 
said,  "  My  fellow  here  has  been  drinking, 
and  I  can't  make  out  from  him  what  the 
matter  is." 


'm  —  oh  —  Tm  so  sorry  to  trouble 
you;  it's  all  a  dreadful  mistake,  but 
Thomas  brought  me  to  the  wrong  house, 
and  has  gone  away,  and  —  and  what  am 
1  to  do?"  Lydia's  closing  wail  was 
dangerously  near  turning  into  tears,  but 
the  last  word  was  uttered  with  only  a 
break  of  the  voice. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  girlish  tone, 
the  man  reached  up  and  turned  aside  the 
shade,  so  as  to  light  up  the  room  ;  and 
by  the  change  the  interloper  found  her- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  man  of  perhaps 
thirty-five,  seemingly  an  invalid,  for  his 
face  was  pale  and  was  resting  on  an 
ordinary  bed-pillow,  while  a  gray  shawl 
was  over  his  body. 

"  Well,"  he  questioned,  with  a  distinct 


suggestion  of  impatience,  "  can't  you  [^  ^ 
walk  there?" 

^^[mI  "It's  19  East  Seventy-second  street,  \fm0&li 
\Xrjf^-]  ^^^  '^  '^  storming  terribly,  and  the  car-  fAnTrx^ 
^|r^  riage  did  n't  stay,  and  I  've  only  slippers  f^^^^^^ 
on,  and  I  '11  spoil  my  dress,  and  I  don't 
know  the  way,"  sobbed  Lydia,  giving 
way  to  tears  as  she  catalogued  her 
accumulation  of  difficulties. 

"Now  don't  be  silly  and  cry,"  pro- 
tested the  man,   half  gruffly  and   half 
^  frightened.    "  Sit  down  there,  and  we  '11 
fix  it  all  right." 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  "  cried  Lydia,  grate- 
fully, even  through  her  tears.  "  Thank 
you,  oh,  thank  you  so  much  I " 

"I  suppose  you're  not  too  drunk, 
Richards,  to  run  an  errand,"  remarked  the 


^^.^M, 


u 


^J^^ 


master,  bitingly.  "  I  do  think  you  might 
be  trusted  once  without  abusing  my 
confidence." 

"Misher  Murshon,  yoush  mosh  un- 
jush/'  responded  the  servant,  in  an 
injured  tone.  "  When  you  shen  me  for 
champagne,  acshident  took  plashe.  Firsh 
bosshle  broke,  and  while  I  shelecks  an- 
osher  one,  I  breashe  fumesh.  Perfeshly 
shober,  bush  a  lilly  dizhey,  zhash  all." 

"  Then  bring  me  that  pad  and  a  pencil 
from  my  desk,"  ordered  the  master,  and 
when  the  two  were  in  his  hands,  he 
wrote  a  brief  note,  and  held  it  out  to 
the  servant,  with  the  direction,  "  There, 
take  that  to  Burton's  livery-stable  at 
once." 

"Yesh,   Misher    Murshon;    zish    in- 


^■^ 


>^.'.-' 


'O'^i 


m 


^^ 


\r 


28 

shant/*  meekly  answered  Richards,  as 
he  hurried  from  the  room  with  all  the 
haste  consistent  with  his  efforts  to  walk 
steadily. 

"  Why  don't  you  sit  down  ?  "  ques- 
tioned the  host,  curtly,  once  more  mo- 
tioning toward  a  chair. 

"  Had  n't  I  better  go  back  to  the  hall  ?  " 
suggested  Lydia.  "Then  I  sha'n't  in- 
terrupt your  reading." 

"  Nonsense  I  Sit  down  I "  he  reiter- 
ated. 

Afraid  to  object  further,  the  girl  took 
a  chair,  remarking,  "Thank  you  very 
much;  and  please  don't  mind  me,  but 
go  on  with  your  book." 

"  I  was  reading  only  from  sheer  ennui," 
growled  the  man.   "  I  sprained  my  ankle 


K 


in 


29 

last  week,  and  have  nearly  perished  of 
boredom  ever  since." 

"  I  'm  so  sorry,"  said  Lydia,  with 
genuine  sympathy  in  her  words.  "  Does 
it  hurt  you  much  ?  " 

"  Only  when  1  try  to  walk.  But  for 
that  I  'd  have  gone  for  a  carriage  myself," 
he  had  the  grace  to  explain,  softened  a 
little  apparently  by  her  manner,  "  instead 
of  sending  that  good-for-nothing  beast." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  —  that  is,  I  mean  —  I 
should  have  been  very  sorry  to  have  you 
put  yourself  out  for  me." 

"  1  'm  only  afraid  that  fellow  will  take 
longer  than  need  be,"  was  the  muttered 
explanation. 

Absolute  silence  followed,  the  host 
evidently  having  nothing  more  to  say. 


1^ 


^ 


n 


30 
and  the  guest  being  too  timid  to  attempt 
conversation.  But  presently  the  heat  of 
the  room  led  her  to  open  her  fan,  and 
this  small  act  served  to  vivify  it  anew. 

"  If  you  're  hot,  why  don't  you  take 
off  your  cloak  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  At  the 
best,  the  carriage  can't  get  here  under 
ten  minutes." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will,  for  I  'm  very 
warm,"  acceded  Lydia,  throwing  back 
her  wrap  with  real  relief. 

"You  were  on  your  way  to  some 
social  frivolity,"  he  remarked,  more  as- 
sertion than  question,  as  his  glance  took 
in  the  dainty  frock  and  the  pretty  bared 
arms  and  throat. 

"  Yes ;  to  a  dinner-party  —  there,  I 
said  it!"  moaned  Lydia. 


^A' 


ilt^ 


^^' 


3' 


vr^ 


"Said  what?"  questioned  her  inter- 
locutor, surprised  at  her  consternation. 

"  I — why,  aunty  told  me,"  stammered 
the  girl,  blushing,    **  that  if  I  spoke  of  ^ 
dinner-parties,  people  —  every  one  would 
know  I  was  from  the  country." 

"  And  are  you  from  the  country  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  acknowledged  Lydia,  straight- 
forwardly, though  coloring  a  little. 

"  And  why  are  you  ashamed  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  it,"  denied  the 
girl,  warmly. 

"  Then  why  did  you  object  to  people 
knowing  that  you  were  ?  "  persisted  her 
relentless  interrogator,  smiling. 

It  was  a  cruel  question,  and  Lydia 
faltered  an  instant,  but,  collecting  her- 
self, she   replied   quietly,  yet  with  real 


m 


'^^m 


!Ur=r 


dignity :  *'  I  feel  no  shame  at  living  in 
the  country,  for  it  is  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of ;  but  when  I  am  in  the  city, 
I  wish  to  behave  as  it  is  customary,  and 
so  I  was  mortified  at  speaking  of  parties 
after  my  aunt  had  cautioned  me  not  to 
use  the  word." 

"  Bravo  !  That 's  the  way  to  feel,  no 
matter  what  people  say,"  exclaimed  the 
man,  approvingly.  "  Pray  tell  a  social 
ignoramus  why  society  objects  to  the 
word  '  parties.' '' 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  aunty  said  that 
people  only  speak  of  dinners  and  dances 
and  receptions,  and  never  of  parties,  and 
that  they'd  think  me  countrified  if  I 
talked  of  them." 

The  man  threw  his  head  back  and 


laughed  heartily.  "Isn't  that  just  like 
the  collection  of  donkeys  and  geese  and 
parrots  who  make  up  *  society '  ?  "  he 
said.  "They  do  nothing  but  heehaw 
and  quack  and  gabble  about  house- 
parties  and  coaching-parties  and  yacht- 
ing-parties, but  of  course  the  word  is 
low,  vulgar,  plebeian,  and  countrified 
when  it  is  applied  to  the  ordinary  uses 
given  in  the  dictionary.  However,  I  'm 
grateful  to  you  for  enlightening  me,  for 
I  'm  not  very  experienced,  and  it  would 
have  been  an  awful  mortification  to  me 
had  I  made  a  slip  in  such  a  vital  matter 
as  the  latest  edict  concerning  social  ^ 
slang." 

"  But  aunty  told  me  no  well-mannered 
person  ever  used  slang,"  objected  his 


i 


HA 


listener,  very  much  mystified  by  the 
irony. 

"  I  'm  not  much  of  an  authority  on  the 
subject,  but  I  think  good  manners  and 
fashionable  life  have  little  intimacy.  As 
for  the  latter's  taboo  on  slang,  it  extends 
only  to  the  vernacular  of  other  circles,  for 
its  own  lingo  is  as  cheap  and  common 
as  any  it  forbids." 

"  Not  really  I  "  marveled  the  girl,  in- 
credulously. "  Now  what,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Not  being  an  expert,  I  can  only  reply 
at  random;  but  take  such  words  as  *bud,' 
*  belle,'  *  wallflower,'  *  smart,' '  swell,'  and 
a  lot  of  similar  ruck,  and  you  '11  see  —  " 

The  completion  of  the  speech  was  cut 
short  by  the  entrance,  without  any 
previous  knock,  of  a  very  tall  and  stout 


I 


^r 


'ii 


ir 


■2^- 


woman,  who  announced  her  advent  with  < 
the  demand : 

"An'  will  yez  be  afther  havin'  yere 
dinner  now,  Misther  Murchison,  or  wait 
till  it's  spiled  intoirely?" 

The  question  asked,  she  stuck  her 
arms,  which  were  bared  to  the  elbow, 
akimbo,  and  stared  fixedly  at  Miss 
Greenough. 

"  Richards  is  n't  back,  is  he?'' 

"  Divil  a  bit." 

**  Then  dinner  must  wait." 

*'  All  roight,  sor ;  but  don't  be  blamin' 
me,  sure,  if  it 's  burnt  to  a  crisp,"  retorted 
the  cook,  impertinently. 

"  Oh,  it 's  too  bad  for  me  to  spoil  your 
dinner.  Please  don't  let  me  prevent 
your  having  it,"  begged  Lydia. 


m 


^^ 


^.-A^/ 


V- 


" That's  roight,  miss/'  agreed  the 
cook,  approvingly.  "  It 's  sick  Oi  am 
thryin'  tocookfortheloikes  av  him,  that 
niver  will  ate  his  food  whin  it 's  ready. 
Toime  an'  toime  ag'in  he 's  so  took  up 
wid  his  chimicals  or  books  —  " 

"  That 's  enough,  Monica,"  interrupted 
the  master,  sharply.  "  You  may  go  back 
to  the  kitchen." 

With  a  shake  of  her  head  and  a  mut- 
tered something  of  disapproval,  the  ser- 
vant obeyed,  just  as  the  clock  on  the 
mantel  began  striking. 

"  You  are  witnessing  some  choice  ex- 
amples of  a  bachelor's  housekeeping,  are 
you  not  ?  "  observed  Mr.  Murchison. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  apologized 
Lydia,  with  a  start.    ''  I  was  trying  to 


T 


count  the  time,  and  so — what  did  you 
ask  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  eight/'  he  told  her,  after  a 
look  at  his  watch. 
>^ '  ^       "  Is  it  really?"  sighed  the  girl,  forlornly. 
"  How  long  will  it  take  to  drive  to  East 
}  Seventy-second  ?  " 

"  Usually  about  fifteen  minutes,  but 
it  will  be  nearer  half  an  hour  if  the 
snow  is  bad.  What  time  was  your 
dinner?" 

"  Half-past  seven." 

"  Well,  if  the  carriage  comes  within  ten 
minutes,  you  '11  only  be  a  little  more  than 
fashionably  late,  so  there 's  no  occasion  ^ 
to  look  so  funereal."  Just  as  he  finished, 
a  bell  sounded,  and  he  added :  "  There 's 
Richards  now,  and  from  the  time  he 's 


y! 


>'~^ 


A 


_^^i 


)8 

been,  he  ought  to  have  brought  a  carriage 
with  him." 

Both  listened  so  intently  that  they 
could  hear  the  distant  footsteps  of  the 
cook  as  she  went  to  the  basement  door, 
and  the  creak  and  the  slam  as  it  was 
opened  and  closed,  even  the  indistinct 
murmur  of  voices,  succeeded  after  a 
time  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  coming 
up  the  stairs;  and  Monica  appeared  in 
the  doorway. 

'*  It 's  Richards  come  back,  sor,"  she 
announced ;  "  an'  he  wint  to  two  stables, 
an'  they  both  said  they  'd  not  sind  no 
carriage  out  in  this  blizzard  for  no 
wan." 

"  And  why  does  n't  he  come  and  tell 
me  so  himself  ?  " 


^ 


rp>j3-*'*^       ~  '7»tacf»-*--j 


^rf 


1^ 


"Sure,  an*  I  don't  think  he  could  git 
upstairs." 

"  He 's  been  drinking  again  ?  ** 

"  An'  he  has  that  same,"  acceded  the 
servant.  "Och,  but  the  smell  of  the 
whisky  'most  knocked  me  over  whin  I 
opened  the  door  just  now." 

Something  Mr.  Murchison  said  under 
his  breath  as,  tossing  the  shawl  aside,  he 
gingerly  put  his  feet  to  the  floor  and  sat 
up.  Then  aloud,  "  Hand  me  my  crutches 
—  there  — in  the  corner,"  he  directed, 
when  the  cook  stood  still. 

An'  what  do  ye  want  wid  thim  ?  " 
she  questioned,  standing  stolidly.  "  For 
ye  need  n't  think  I  '11  be  afther  bringin' 
thim  to  ye,  if  ye  're  goin'  to  do  wan  stip 
more  than  walk  to  the  dinin'-room." 


\w 


'/IW 


I 


"  Nonsense  I  Do  as  I  tell  you/*  ordered 
her  master. 

"Nary  crutch  do  I  bring,  unless  ye 
promise  to  moind  the  docthor." 

"  You  will  obey  my  order  at  once,"  he 
reiterated,  quietly  but  sternly. 

"  Och,  for  the  love  of  the  blissid  saints ! 
Misther  Murchison,  be  good  now!" 
whimpered  the  woman,  though  she  made 
not  the  slightest  motion  of  obedience. 

The  invalid  turned  to  his  visitor. 
"Will  you  please  bring  me  those 
crutches  over  there  in  the  corner?" 

"  Don't  ye  do  it,  miss,"  counseled  the 
Irish  woman,  "for  he's  that  set  an' 
obstinate  that  —  " 

"  Be  still,  Monica,"  broke  in  the  man, 
really  irritated.    "  You  don't — " 


**  An'  is  it  be  still  ye  'd  have  me  ?  "  in- 
dignantly retorted  the  maid.  "  Very  well. 
Oi'U  be  still,  an'  let  ye  go  yere  own 
way,  an'  foine  work  'twill  be."  She 
crossed  the  room  and  came  back  with 
the  crutches.  "Theer!"  she  snapped, 
as  she  held  them  out  to  him,  "  thry 
walkin'  the  shtreets  in  this  snow.  Thry 
if  ye  can  so  much  as  git  down  the  front 
stips  in  this  wind.  Listhen  to  it  howl. 
Och,  foine  sport  ye  '11  have  of  it! " 

"  Oh,  she  is  quite  right,"  urged  Lydia, 

joining  her  plea  to  that  of  the  servant. 

,  "  It  is  blowing  so  that  it  is  all  one  can 

do  to  stand  up,  and  the  steps  are  a  foot 

deep  with  snow." 

While  she  was  speaking,  the  invalid 
took  the  crutches,  and  by  their  help  suc- 


y. 


t 


^"^ 


cessfuUy  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  now 
stood  upright,  propped  upon  them.  The 
joint  protests,  however,  were  sufficient 
to  give  him  pause,  and  his  face  showed 
^  evident  indecision  for  a  brief  space  be- 
fore he  said,  "Then  will  you  go  for  a 
carriage,  Monica?" 

"  Av  coorse  Oi  will,  if  that  will  satisfy 
ye,"  assented  the  cook,  "though  Oi  don't 
see  what  use  't  will  be  if  they  won't  send 
wan,  an'  the  dinner  '11  be  spoilt  intoirely 
by  the  toime  Oi  git  back,  if  Oi  'm  not 
froze  to  death  goin'  or  comin'." 

"  It 's  dreadful  to  put  you  to  so  much 
trouble,"  grieved  Lydia,  "  and  now  it- 
it —  really  is  n't  necessary.  You  said  it 
would  take  over  ten  minutes  to  get  a 
carriage  here,  and  half  an  hour  to  drive 


¥ 


m 


f 


'■■^t 


F 


there,  and  now  it 's  quarter  past  eight, 
so  at  the  best  I  could  n't  get  there  till 
nearly  nine  o'clock,  and  the  dinner  will" 
be  over  by  that  time.  So  please  let 
Monica  give  you  your  dinner  before 
she  tries  to  get  a  carriage." 

"  That 's  roight,  miss,  an'  the  sinse  ye 
have  av  it ;  for  it 's  sure  the  policeman 

,  will  be  in  for  a  bit  av  a  sup — "  Monica 
caught  herself  up  sharply,  coughed,  and 
then  went  on  hurriedly  —  "  that  is,  it 's 

^  me  cousin  promised  he'd  thry  to  bring 
me  word  this  evenin'  av  how  me  —  me 
niece  was,  that's  sick  wid  a  terrible 
cold ;  an'  whin  he  comes,  Oi  '11  just 
make  him  foind  a  carriage  for  ye,  an'  it 's 
himself  can  do  it." 
"There,  you  see,"  joyfully  cried  the 


/jJ^l 


io/ 


^ 


L= 


.\i 


•rv 


>/^i\ 


)-=<7* 


country  girl,  her  brow  clearing.  "  That 
will  save  all  the  trouble." 

"  And  what  about  you  ?  "  questioned 
Mr.  Murchison. 

"  Me  ?  "  Why  —  Til  just  sit  here  and 
read  something  until  the  carriage  comes/' 
explained  Lydia,  guilelessly. 

"  And  go  without  any  dinner  ?" 

"  Oh,  that 's  nothing,"  she  responded. 
"  I  '11  not  mind  a  bit,  really." 

"But  I  can't  have  that,"  objected  the 
host.   "  Don't  you  see  it 's  impossible  ?  " 

"  Av  coorse  it  is,"  chimed  in  Monica. 
"It's  sit  down  an'  have  a  good  dinner 
along  wid  the  masther  ye  will,  sinsible 
loike." 

"But  Tm  not  in  the  least  hungry, 
truly,"  lied  Lydia,  earnestly. 


45 


have 


"  It 's  impossible  for  me 
dinner,  and  you  go  without,''  asserted 
Mr.   Murchison.      "Don't   you    see   it 

IS? 

Lydia  colored  and  looked  doubtingly, 
first  at  the  woman  and  then  at  the 
man. 

"  I  'm  afraid  —  it  —  would  it  be 
proper?"  she  questioned,  her  face  once 
again  wrinkled  with  anxiety. 

"  An'  av  coorse  it  would  be,  miss,  an'  y 
a  good  dinner  ye '11  have;  an'  foine  it 
will  be  for  the  masther  to  have  a  bit  av 
'  company,  afther  his  bein'  so  sick  an' 
solitiry,"  affirmed  the  cook,  heartily. 

"I  —  I'm  not  used  to  —  to  city  ways," 
faltered  Lydia, "  and —  oh,  dear !  I  don't 
know  what  is  right  I    What  do  you  think 


y/, 


15 


46 

I  ought  to  do?"  she  appealed  to  Mr. 
Murchison,  throwing  herself  on  his 
honor. 

Her  question  transferred  some  of  the 
wrinkles  of  her  forehead  to  his  and  he 
hesitated,  frowningl}^  before  he  spoke. 
"Look  here/'  he  replied,  ^Tve  got  an 
apology  to  make,  and  1  want  to  make  it 
before  I  answer  you.  When  you  first 
came  in  here,  I  thought  you  were  one  of 
those  silly  New  York  society  girls  who 
pretend  to  be  innocent  and  helpless,  be- 
cause they  think  that 's  the  way  to  catch 
the  men,  but  who  really  know  the  world, 
good  and  bad,  about  as  well  as  those 
twenty  years  their  seniors.  Believing 
this,  I  thought  you  could  take  care  of 
yourself  as  well  as  need  be,  and  so  I  was 


w^ 


>i»"'ft  = 


^^CT 


^^f 


1?^^ 


[ 


curt  and  rude,  and  I  'm  sorry  and  mor- 


N» 


tified." 

"  Please  don't  talk  like  that,"  broke  inl 
the  girl,  "for  you  Ve  —  for  1  know  how 
much  trouble  I've  given  you  all,  and 
you  've  been  most  kind." 

"  I  say  this  much  as  a  preliminary  be- 
cause I  wanted  you  to  feel  in  advance 

r  that  you  were  n't  being  asked  to  dine  by 
an  ogre.  If,  now,  you  were  one  of  the 
girls  I  mistook  you  for,  I  suppose  you 

I  would  n't  dine  with  me  under  the  present 
conditions.  That 's  because  they  import 
their  manners,  as  well  as  their  gowns, 
from  France,  and  Johnnie  Crapeau  is 
such  a  gentleman  that  convention  or- 
dains that  a  woman  must  never  be  left 
alone  with  him  an  instant.    But,  as  a 


v^ 


/  4S 

fact,  the  American  woman  knows  that 
she 's  absolutely  safe  with  the  American 
man,  and  she  does  n't  pay  the  least  heed 
to  the  decree,  except  this  society  woman, 
who  wouldn't  either,  if  it  weren't 
French.    Is  n't  that  so  ?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  quite  know  what  you 
mean,"  she  replied. 

"  Where  you  came  from  was  it  wrong 
for  a  girl  to  go  off  driving  or  sleighing 
with  a  man,  and  to  be  alone  with  him 
for  several  hours  ?  " 

"No,"  acknowledged  Lydia,  a  little 
reluctantly. 

"  Then  I  don't  see  why  you  should  n't 
dine  with  me." 

"  But  I  knew  them  well  —  and  always 
had  known  them,"  she  objected. 


The  man  smiled  as  he  said  pleasantly : 
And  I  have  n't  even  a  family  Bible  to 
vouch  for  me.    Well,  my  name  is  Allan 
Murchison,  which  is  equivalent  to  saying 
.,     that  I  was  born  a  Scotchman,  and  the 
2t3   Standard    Chemical    Company    would    % 
give  me  a  first-class  recommendation, 
if  they  thought  I  needed  it,  either  as  a  ^ 
man  or  as  a  chemist.    Monica  here  will 
go  bail  for  my  conduct  as  a  domestic 
animal,  which  "  —  Mr.  Murchison  gave 
a  little  laugh  —  "  is  more  than  I  can  do 
for  either  of  my  domestics.    Now,  don't 
you  think  this  information  and  her  pres- 
ence are  guaranties  enough  ?  " 

"  An'  sure,  miss,"  interrupted  the  cook, 
once  again  putting  in  her  tongue,  "  don't 
ye  fear  wan  minute  to  do  it,  for  the 


M 


masther  's  a  gintleman,  if  ever  theer  was 
wan,  or  it 's  not  mesilf  would  desave  ye 
if  he  wasn't." 

Poor  Lydia  glanced  about  the  room, 
as  if  seeking  further  counsel  from  some- 
thing before  saying,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  'm 
very  foolish,  but  I  really  don't  think  I 
ought.  It — it  somehow  does  n't  seem 
right  —  and  something  tells  me  that 
aunty  would  think  it  very  wrong." 

"  Then  of  course  you  are  not  to  do  it," 
Mr.  Murchison  told  her,  and  taking  the 
crutches  from  under  his  arms,  he  resumed 
his  seat  on  the  lounge. 

"  Oh,  but  won't  you  please  have  your 
dinner,  just  as  if  I  was  n't  here  ?  "  be- 
sought the  girl.  "  I  '11  just  sit  here  and 
read  something." 


■»»•-'«••  J— 


"^2?'^3^"-^ 


m. 


To  prove  the  good  faith  of  her  ofTer,^gi^-^ 
she  caught  up  a  magazine  from  the  little 
table. 

Mr.  Murchison  laughed  with  real  mer- 
riment.  "  Hold  on/'  he  said ;  "  I  '11  have  .  ,, 
a  forfeit  with  you.    If  you'll  Promise  J  ^j(L^>i^ 
^  honestly  to  read  that,  —  that  is  under-  ^  ^^^^^'  ^ 
stand  it,  —  why,  I  '11  eat  my  dinner  alone ; 
but  if  you  don't  read  it,  as  you  said 
you  would,  why,  then  you  must   dine 
with  me.    Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 
y     *'  Why,  yes.    I  '11  agree  to  that,"  con- 
sented Lydia,   welcoming  any  loophole 
of  escape,  though  a  little  puzzled  to  know 
what  he  meant. 

"  Now  light  the  reading-lamp  and  see 
what  you've  promised  to  read,"  re- 
quested the  man,  laughing  once  more. 


'N- 


Obediently  the  girl  turned  on  the 
electric  light  on  the  table  beside  her, 
and,  raising  the  magazine,  glanced  at 
the  title.  "  *  Chemisch-Technisches 
Repertorium, '  "  she  read  out  question- 
ingly,  with  an  admirable  German 
accent 

"  Oh,''  ejaculated  the  man,  his  laugh- 
ter visibly  waning,  *'you  know  German, 
do  you?  Well,  which  of  the  articles 
are  you  going  to  read  ?"  he  questioned 
quizzically. 

Miss  Greenough  ran  her  eyes  down 
the  table  of  contents,  and  then  she 
smiled,  as  she  answered,  with  a  touch 
of  archness,  "  I  think  this  *  Darstellung 
von  substantiven  BaumwoUfarbstoffen 
aus  Derivaten   der   Dinitrooxydipheny- 


lamine/  by  a  man  named  Allan  Murchi- 
son,  sounds  interesting." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  try  to  make 

me    believe  you    can  understand  that 

rubbish/'  demanded  Mr.  Murchison,  the 

smile  all  gone,  "and  so  escape  paying 

)  the  forfeit?" 

Lydia  gave  a  triumphant  little  laugh. 
*'  My  father  is  a  doctor,  Mr.  Murchison, 
and  he's  taught  me  all  the  chemistry 
he  knows,  and  I  'm  very  much  interested 
in  it ;  indeed,  I  could  n't  have  found  any- 
thing that  interests  me  more.  So  you 
see  you  must  pay  the  forfeit,  and  eat 
your  dinner,  while  I  sit  here  and  read." 

"  Oh  I "  was  all  the  response  the 
chemist  vouchsafed,  thoroughly  taken 
aback  and  crestfallen.    Then,  man  of  his 


f}. 


word,  he  turned  to  Monica.  "  You  may 
give  me  dinner  as  soon  as  it  is  ready." 

"Ready,"  grunted  the  cook  as  she 
started  to  leave  the  room.  "Ready 
some  of  it 's  been  this  twinty  minutes, 
an'  it's  not  mesilf  is  to  blame  if  —  " 
There  her  grumbles  died  away  out  of 
the  hearing  of  the  two. 

To  emphasize  the  agreement,  Lydia 
slightly  shifted  her  chair  to  bring  the 
light  properly,  and,  opening  the  review, 
began  reading. 

To  this  absorption  Mr.  Murchison 
made  no  objection,  but,  settling  back  on 
the  lounge,  he  calmly  examined  his 
unexpected  visitor,  who,  thanks  to  the 
newly  lighted  lamp,  was  now  for  the  first 
time  clearly  visible  to  him.   In  her  dainty 


P^M^ 


^''%i 


frock,  the  gift  of  her  aunt,  and  far  ex- 
ceeding in  fineness  anything  she  had 
hitherto  even  dreamed  of,  the  girl  made 
a  charming  picture;  but  Mr.  Murchison 
scarcely  noticed  it,  giving  his  whole 
attention  to  her  face.  It  was  one  most 
people  gave  attention  to,  with  its  clear 
eyes,  studious  rather  than  alert,  and  its 
rather  low  and  thoughtful  forehead,  all 
suggesting  in  some  way  that  they  were  \vi 
more  interested  in  what  was  being 
thought  than  in  what  was  being  seen, 
and  each  in  curious  contradiction  to,  or 
at  least  strange  mates  of,  a  very  youthful- 
looking  mouth  and  chin,  and  a  wilderness 
of  little  curls,  boldly  standing  forth  or 
timidly  hiding  themselves,  flyaway  or 
nestling,  single  and  in  couples,  decking 


i% 


^^^^^Mi 

W^^^^^^^^^i- 

S3 

M^^SSI^^m 

m 

fly^M^W 

ti: 


56 

i^yJ^IM  the  temples,  or  kissing:  the  little  ears  and 
the  slender  neck,  and  all  seemingly  utter- 
ing a  mute  but  most  eloquent  protest  at 
the  tyranny  of  combs  and  hair-pins. 
The  spectacle  was  a  novel  one  to  the 
solitary  bachelor,  and  was  made  all  the 
more  unusual  and  interesting  because 
those  eyes  were  reading  an  article  of 
his,  and  he  noted  each  change  of  expres- 
sion, however  slight,  and  tried  to  divine 
from  it  how  far  she  had  progressed 
and  how  much  she  was  interested. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Miss 
Greenough  could  long  remain  unaware 
of  this  fixed  scrutiny,  and  as  conscious- 
ness grew  she  found  it  more  and  more 
difficult  to  keep  her  attention  fastened 
upon   what   she  was  reading,  and  to 


keep  from  stealing  a  glance  toward 
the  sofa  to  assure  herself  that  she  was 
being  watched.  This  latter  desire  pres- 
ently became  so  strong  that  only  by  a 
distinct  exertion  of  the  will  was  she 
able  to  resist  it,  and,  try  her  best,  her 
)  thoughts  would  not  keep  themselves 
centred  in  those  strange  German  letters 
and  terrible  technical  words.  She  held 
her  eyes  determinedly  on  the  itxiy  how- 
ever, and  turned  the  pages  at  what  she 
thought  was  the  proper  interval  of  time. 

"Now,  honestly,  do  you  understand 
it?"  questioned  her  host  suddenly. 

Although  the  interruption-  was  a  relief 
in  that  it  allowed  the  girl  to  raise  her 
eyes,  the  inquiry  was  disconcerting,  and 
the  temptation  to  fib  was  strong;  but 


A 


3S   V 

after  a  moment's  embarrassment  Lydia 
answered  frankly : 

"  I  have  n't  been  able  to  comprehend 
it." 

"  Then  under  our  compact  you  will 
have  to  dine  with  me,  won't  you?" 
broke  in  Mr.  Murchison. 

*'I  was  going  to  explain,"  went  on 
the  girl,  "  that  my  mind  won't  concen- 
trate on  it  at  present ;  but  I  believe,  if 
the  conditions  were  different,  I  could 
read  it,  abstruse  as  it  is.  And  when  I 
am  home  again  I  shall  write  and  get  a 
copy,  that  I  may  really  read  it." 

"  You  need  n't  take  that  trouble,  for 
you  are  welcome  to  that  copy,  if  you  are 
in  earnest." 

"  But  I  really  must  n't  rob  you. 


;^ 


^ 


^V^f 


59 


ir.^ 


^ 


''>i 


The  author  laughed.  "You  needn't 
fear  that.  One  is  n't  paid  anything^  for 
that  kind  of  stuff,  but  they  give  one  all 
the  copies  one  wants.  Anything  to  get 
rid  of  them,  is  the  way  they  look  at  it, 
judging  from  the  difficulty  I  have  in  get- 
ting people  to  accept  copies." 

"  If  you  are  in  earnest,  of  course  I  '11 
take  it  gladly,  and  be  very  much  obliged 
indeed ;  and  I  know  papa  will  be  glad 
to  see  it,  too,  for  he  —  " 

The  thanks  of  the  girl  were  cut  short 
here  by  the  intermittent  cook,  who  once 
more  entered. 

"An'  whativer  shall  we  do,  sor?"  she 
demanded  crossly.  "  Here 's  that  baste 
Richards  lyin'  on  the  intry  flure,  an'  not 
wan  move  can  Oi  git  'm  to  make,  an' 


Xr 


now  Oi  foind  he  hasn't  aven  set  the 
ta-able/' 

The  man  on  the  sofa  laughed,  half 
amusedly  and  half  disgustedly.  "It's 
lucky  for  me  that  you  did  n't  accept  my 
invitation.  The  Fates  are  determined, 
you  see,  that  we  are  neither  of  us  to 
have  any  dinner." 

"An'  sure  it's  not  as  bad  as  that," 
comforted  the  servant,  "for  it's  mesilf 
will  set  the  ta-able  in  the  dinin'-room 
for  ye,  or  this  little  wan  in  here,  just  as 
ye  desoide,  Misther  Murchison." 

"  Very  well ;  give  it  to  me  here." 

"  An'  perhaps  ye  '11  be  clearin'  off  that 
ta-able,  miss,  whoile  Oi  'm  afther  gittin' 
the  plates,"  calmly  suggested  the  maid. 

"I  won't    have    such    impertinence. 


^m^li  ChirA^Cy^^.\^ii^ 


.^. 


rxx 


i 


61 

j  Monica,"  began  the  master  angrily, 
^'  "and  —  '' 

"  But  I  will  gladly,"  acquiesced  Lydia, 
rising. 

"  Nonsense !  I  '11  not  have  you  do  any- 
thing of  the  kind,"  indignantly  asserted 
)  the  man. 

"And  how  will  you  prevent  me?" 
laughed  Lydia,  saucily,  busy  in  clearing 
away  the  books  and  other  things  on  the 
table. 

"  I  won't  have  you  wait  on  me,  or  do 
my  servant's  bidding,"  he  protested. 

"  Why,  I  often  set  the  table  at  home," 
explained  the  girl,  "  and  I  really  enjoy  it, 
for  I  make  it  look  so  much  nicer  than 
Hannah  ever  does  that  even  papa  notices 
the  difference.  And  I  always  do  it  when 


1^ 


TT^ 


62 

we  are  to  have  company.  Shall  I  put 
the  table  by  the  sofa  or  by  the  easy- 
chair  ? '' 

"  By  the  chair,  please/'  requested  Mr. 
Murchison,  resignedly  though  amused. 
"  But  pray  don't  let  my  wishes  interfere 
with  any  preference  you  may  have.  I  'm 
well  used  to  the  position  of  submissive 
mastership." 

"  In  that  case  I  'm  going  to  move  them 
both  over  here,  nearer  the  fire  —  or 
what  might  be  one  if  it  were  properly 
mended,"  announced  the  girl,  really 
interested  and  on  her  mettle.  She  put 
the  furniture  as  indicated,  and  then  with 
the  tongs  changed  the  positions  of  the 
smoldering,  smoking  logs,  placed  two 
new  ones  artfully  in  exactly  the  right 


E' 


^^f 


6) 

spots,  and  brushed  up  the  hearth  into 
^^1^  tidiness,  just  as  the  fire  burst  out  into 
flames  that  lighted  up  and  cheered  the 
hitherto  rather  gloomy-looking  room. 

"  That 's  delightful !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Murchison,  admiringly.  **  I  wish  you'd 
show  my  servants  how  to  make  a  fire ; 
for  all  they  ever  give  is  just  an  aggrava- 
tion of  one." 

"  It 's  only  a  bed  of  embers,  a  good  big 
back  log,  and  plenty  of  air  —  oh,  I  forgot 
1  was  instructing  a  chemist  —  plenty  of 
O2.  I  always  like  to  think  of  fire  as  the 
ancients  did,  before  you  dreadful  scien- 
tists took  all  the  poetry  out  of  it,  as  a 
god,  or  element,  separate  from  but  im- 
prisoned in  everything.  Many  and  many 
a  night  I  can't  go  to  sleep  until  my  fire  is 


N» 


^^M^> 


•^^/XNE 


all  burned  out,  but  just  lie  and  watch  the 
flame  or  spirit  escape  from  its  prison. 
And  if  I  were  a  poet,  my  first  endeavor 
would  be  to  try  to  write  some  great  epic 
on  it,  and  so  put  the  poetry  back." 

"  And  why  so  unjustly  leave  out  the 
scientist?"  responded  Mr.  Murchison. 
"  Surely  he  or  his  works  could  be  in- 
cluded. Let  me  see  if  I  can 't  suggest  a 
stanza  or  two.    Yes : 


^M:, 


" '  The  Baltimore  heater 

Makes  many  lives  sweeter.'  " 

"Oh,  don't  I"  pleaded  Lydia, 
"  Ah,  ha !    So  you  must  beg  of  the 
poor  scientists,  after  all  ?    But  after  your 
base  attack  on  them  I  '11  show  no  mercy. 
Listen  to  this : 


fTm"  ... 


How  dreary,  cold,  and  strange 
Is  the  home  without  a — '  " 


Crash  I  jingle  I  jingle  I  jingle  I  came  a  ^ 
succession  of  sounds,  cutting  short  the 
rhymester. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  hastily  said  Mr. 
Murchison,  reassuringly,  as  Lydia  jumped. 
"  That  is  merely  the  usual  announcement 
that  a  bachelor's  dinner  is  approaching, 
though  I  do  think  Monica  might  have 
let  me  complete  my  jingle  before  so  ^ 
utterly  eclipsing  it  with  hers.'* 

"  It  is  too  bad  I  "  cried  Lydia,  regret- 
fully. 

"  Which  ?  —  for  I  'm  afraid  my  doggerel 
is  the  worse  of  the  two.  Well,  Monica, 
is  there  enough  left  for  one  meal?" 
he  asked,    as  the   cook  appeared,  her 


arms   laiden  with    napery,  china,  and 
silver. 

"  Arrah,  Misther  Murchison,  an'  it 
was  just  two  plates  an'  some  silver  which 
fell  off  the  dresser  av  thimselves  while 
Oi  was  r'achin'  for  the  glasses,  an'  it 
froighted  me  so,  bad  cess  to  it  I  that  Oi 
dhropped  two  goblets,  an'  small  blame 
to  me  that  Oi  did  n't  dhrop  more."  She 
set  her  burden  on  the  table  with  an  air 
of  conscious  self-approval,  and  as  she 
retired  said:  "Theer,  miss,  whoile  ye 
spread  the  cloth,  Oi  '11  be  bringin'  in  the 
rest." 

"  You  are  now  paying  the  penalty  of 
having  sided  with  Monica  against  me  a 
moment  ago,  for  she  clearly  considers 
you  as  an  ally,  if  not  a  minion.    But  it 's 


i^^^^^^^uW^ 

-M 

^^ 

i 

3 

.^^^m 

1 

w^s^m 

JJiiWj 

m 

..r^^^rK 


y^  your  own  fault  if  you  pay  the  lea^t  at- 
tention to  her  bidding." 

"  It  really  amuses  me,"  answered  the 
girl,  gaily,  as  she  deftly  unfolded  and 
settled  the  cloth  into  place,  and  arranged 
silver  and  china  quickly  and  quietly  in 
their  positions. 

*'  You  'd  better  set  two  places  \yhile  you 
are  about  it,"  advised  the  man,  "  for  I  see 
Monica  has  brought  the  china  and  silver 
for  it,  so  she  evidently  intends  that  you 
shall  dine  with  me." 

"An'  av  coorse  she  will,  an', not  be 
foolish,"  asserted  the  cook,  reentering 
with  goblets  and  wine-glasses.  "  Sure, 
don't  be  stiflF  and  silly,  miss,  but  do  as 
the  masther  bids  ye." 

With  slightly  heightened  color,  and 


I 


I 


with  hands  not  quite  so  quick  and  dex- 
terous as  before,  Lydia  set  another  place 
opposite  the  one  completed,  while  the 
maid  deposited  the  glass  upon  the  table. 

"  Oi  think  that 's  all  to  begin  wid,"  she 
said,  taking  stock  of  the  table. 

"  Can't  you —  have  n't  you  something 
to  ornament  it  with  —  a  centrepiece  — 
flowers  —  silver ? "  asked  Lydia.  "It 
looks  so  bare." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  are  asking  too 
much  of  a  bachelor's  house.  How  is  it, 
Monica?" 

"  Nary  a  cinterpace  have  we ;  but 
theer's  a  silver  moog  might  do." 

"  Never  mind ;  this  will  answer,"  said 
Lydia,  taking  a  small  vase  from  the 
mantel  and  putting  it  on  the  table.    This 


1  69 

done  she  took   from  the  front  of  her 
gown  a  bunch  of  violets.    "  There,  could 
Richards  have  done  that  better?"  she  \ 
asked,  giving  her  hands  a  little  clap  of 
triumph. 

By  the  aid  of  the  crutches  the  invalid 
)  had  once  again  got  upon  his  feet,  and  f  \ 
then  across  the  space  to  the  table.  "  That 
is  charming,"  he  declared,  "  and  I  only 
wish  Richards  had  half  your  skill.  If 
ever  a  Good  Samaritan  deserved  a  din-  ^ 
ner,  I  think  you  do." 

"  An'  shall  I  dish  up,  sor  ?  "  inquired 
'  the  cook. 

**  You  will  take  your  orders  from  Miss  ^ 
—  excuse  me,  but  I  really  think  I  ought 
to  know  your  name." 

"  Lydia  Greenough 


-^ 


"Thank  you.  This  is  Miss  Green- 
ough's  dinner,  Monica,  and  you  will 
take  your  orders  from  her." 

"Then  you  may  serve  dinner,"  di- 
^\^  yd.  reeled  Lydia ;  and  as  the  cook  departed 
and  the  two  took  their  seats  at  the  little 
table  she  went  on  naively :  "Do  you 
know,  I  've  always  had  such  a  longing 
to  be  the  mistress  of  a  house,  if  only  for 
a  week,  and  so  you  can't  imagine  what 
fun  this  is  to  me." 

"I  should  think  a  week  would  be 
enough  to  cure  you  of  the  desire,  and  I 
suspect  one  meal  at  this  house  will." 

"On    the    contrary,"   replied  Lydia, 
smiling,  "  what  I  have  seen  has  had  the 
directly  opposite  eflfect." 
don't  see  why." 


I 


r%t 


mm^ 

^m 

H^^ 

"  Because  there  is  such  a  lot  to  do," 
laughed  Lydia.  "  I  'm  afraid  that  is 
very  rude  under  the  circumstances,"  she 
added,  with  a  shade  of  contrition,  "  but 
there  are  five  of  us  girls,  besides  mama, 
and  it 's  a  tiny  house,  so  there  is  never 
enough  work  to  go  round  ;  and  if  there 's 
anything  particularly  nice,  such  as  buy- 
ing something  new,  or  rearranging  a 
room,  or  making  jelly,  why,  it  is  n't 
fair  for  me  to  have  it,  because  I  'm  the 
youngest.  You  know,  sometimes  I'm 
fairly  desperate,  I  seem  to  be  of  so  little 
use. 

"Except  when  you  set  the  table," 
suggested  Mr.  Murchison,  smiling. 

"  Yes ;  and  papa  lets  me  keep  his  dis- 
pensary in  order." 


M 

^ 

it^f 

m 

m 


"Oh,  so  that's  how  you  came  to 
study  chemistry,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  then  I  hope  to  use  it  later 
on." 

"  And  how  will  you  do  that  ?  "  asked 
her  vis-a-vis,  smiling  indulgently. 

"  I  want  to  get  a  position  as  teacher 
in  a  school,  and  I  thought  that  the  more 
things  I  knew  the  better  my  chance 
would  be." 

The  dialogue  was  broken  here  by  the 
arrival  of  Monica,  bearing  in  each  hand 
a  plate  of  soup,  which  she  duly  placed 
before  the  two,  and  both,  really  hungry, 
began  upon  it,  only  to  discover,  with 
the  first  sip,  that  its  temperature  was  as 
far  from  suggesting  the  fire  as  it  was 
the  refrigerator. 


Really,  Monica,"  protested  the  host, 
"I  think  you  might  give  us  our  soup 
warm  enough  to  be  eatable." 

"  An'  wid  nary  a  hot  plate,  an'  me 
carryin'  it  from  the  kitchen  clear  up 
here,"  retorted  the  maid  indignantly. 
"  Sick  Oi  am  thryin'  to  plase  yez,  an'  Oi 
gives  notice  now  that  Oi — " 

"It's  very  nicely  flavored  and  not  a 
bit  greasy,"  put  in  Lydia,  soothingly; 
*'and  I  don't  wonder  it  isn't  quite  hot 
enough,  considering  all  the  circum- 
stances." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  miss,"  replied  the 
cook,  softening  a  little  at  the  praise,  ^ 
"  an'  it 's  yeself  knows  how  it  is  wid  a 
poor,  lone  woman  workin'   herself  to 
skin  an'  bones,"  —  Monica  weighed  two 


yt^. 


1^ 


hundred  if  she  weighed  a  pound  — 
"thryin'  to  suit  a  lot  of  ungrateful, 
complainin'  men,  as  nothin'  will  satisfy 
but  —  '' 

"  You  might  get  us  some  bread,  now, 
and  also  the  champagne,  Monica,"  inter- 
jected Mr.  Murchison,  mildly. 

"Nary  step  more  —  "  began  the  ser- 
vant. 

"Oh  yes,  Monica,"  broke  in  Lydia, 
persuasively ;  "  can't  you  get  us  some 
bread?" 

"An' if  Oi  do,'t  will  be  for  ye,  an' 
not  thim  as  spends  their  toime  com- 
plainin'," muttered  the  servant,  still  bel- 
ligerent ;  but  she  departed  on  the  sug- 
gested errand. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  me  that  I  told  Monica 


n] 


HICII  /) 


Qix^.r*    ,- 


^ 


this  was  your  dinner,  for  I  fear  that 
otherwise  we  should  go  hungry.  I  wish 
you  'd  tell  me  how  you  do  it." 

"  Oh,  servants  are  easy  enough,"  re- 
plied Lydia,  speaking  as  if  she  were  used 
to  a  houseful  of  them.  "  You  only  want 
to  remember  that  they  are  children,"  she 
explained,  "  and  that  they  '11  do  anything 
for  you  if  they  are  fond  of  you,  and  noth- 
ing if  they  are  n't.  It's  a  quality  I  ad- 
mire in  them;  it's  so  honest." 

"Evidently  you  are  a  born  house- 
keeper." 

*'  Yes,  I  believe  I  am,"  acknowledged 
^  the  girl  simply;  "for  I  love  everything 
about  a  house,  and  my  dream  has  always 
been  to  have  one  of  my  own  to  take  care 
of  and  fuss  over,  and  where  everything. 


% 


m 

F^« 

^«^UL^i>^ 

^r^ 


§(  would  be  just  as  I  wanted  it.  I  can't 
imagine  anything  more  interesting." 

Mr.  Murchison  smiled  at  Lydia's  en- 
thusiasm. "  It 's  a  pity  we  can't  exchange 
places,  for  I  have  the  house  and  never 
give  it  the  least  attention.  Now,  hon- 
estly, do  you  think  my  lot  enviable  ?  " 

Lydia  shook  her  head  as  she  glanced 
about  the  room.  "You  couldn't  have 
arranged  things  worse,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
don't  see  how  you  can  stand  it.  Do 
you  know,"  she  went  on,  dropping  her 
voice  to  a  confidential  pitch,  "  that  ever 
since  I  lighted  the  lamp  I  've  been  try- 
ing not  to  look  at  the  mantel;  yet  1 
can't  keep  my  eyes  away  from  it." 

"Mantel?  What's  the  matter  with 
the  mantel  ?  " 


>^Wh-^ 


1 


"Why,  the  magenta  lambrequin  and 
that  beautiful  Pompeian  red  bowl." 

"  It  is  a  beauty,  is  n't  it  ?  "  responded  WL 
the    owner.     "I  bought  it  in  Naples  fl| 
of— " 

"  But,  oh,  would  you  mind  if  I  moved   Ji^^% 
)  it  somewhere  else  ?  "   begged  Lydia. 

"  Do  anything  you  want  with  it,  if  ^ 
the  sight  of  it  troubles  you." 

"  I  only  want  to  get  it  away  from  that 
particular  color,"  explained  Lydia,  rising  ^ 
and  shifting  the  object  of  conversation 
to  the  top  of  a   book-shelf.    "There, 
gjl^  that's  such  a  relief,  isn't  it?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is,  since  you  say  so,"  ^ 
acknowledged  the  man.    "You  see  — 
well,  this  is  only  a  rented  house,  and 
most  of  the  furniture  is  n't  mine,  and  I 


1   ) 


^FRi:^ 


spend  virtually  all  my  time  at  the  fac- 
tory or  in  my  laboratory  up-stairs,  so 
it  didn't  seem  worth  while  to  do 
much." 

"  But  magenta  and  red  I "  sighed 
Lydia,   with  a  slight  shiver. 

"  Probably  it's  wrong,  and  if  I  paid 
more  attention  to  the  house  no  doubt  it 
would  go  better,  for  I  confess  everything 
just  messes  along,  and  I  'm  a  fool  to  tol- 
erate it.  But  I  'm  a  busy  man,  and  I 
hate  all  the  little  details  like  poison,  and 
so  I  even  put  up  with  bad  servants 
rather  than  go  through  the  trouble  of — " 
There  the  householder  checked  himself 
as  Monica  entered,  bearing  a  plate  of 
bread  and  a  champagne-cooler. 

"I  was  looking  forward  to  a  lonely 


P, 


n 


'^^: 


m 


r^, 


and  very  dull  Christmas  Eve,"  said  Mr. 
Murchison,  as  he  took  the  bottle  from^ 
its  icy  repository  and  began  twisting  the 
cork,  "and  so  I  thought  I'd  try  and 
make  it  a  little  festive  by  this  —  with 
rather  disastrous  results,  as  you  have 
seen.  It  was  an  unlucky  chance  for 
you,  but  I  hope  a  glass  of  it  will  lessen 
your  disappointment  over  the  '  dinner- 
party '  a  little."  As  he  talked,  the  cork 
came  out  with  a  clear  pop,  and  he  poured 
a  few  drops  into  his  own  glass. 

"Do  you  know,  I've  never  tasted 
champagne,  and  I  've  been  very  curious 
to  know  what  it 's  like.  It  was  one  of 
the  things  I  was  looking  forward  to  at 
the  dinner." 

Mr.    Murchison    had    begun    to    fill 


r 


I 


^^^m 


fl^=^ 


^Mi^ 


M 


Lydia's  glass,  but  he  halted.  "  You  Ve 
never  drunk  champagne  before  ? ''  he  in- 
quired. 

"  No.  I  suppose  it 's  very  countrified, 
but  I  never  have." 

"  Then  I  'm  going  to  advise  you  not 
to  make  a  beginning  this  evening,''  he 
counseled. 

"Of  course  I  won't,  if  you  think 
best,"  acceded  the  girl. 

"It  sounds  rather  inhospitable,  the 
more  so  that  I  can't  give  any  reason 
why  I  advise  it;  but  —  probably  you'll 
understand  me  when  I  put  it  in  the  fem- 
inine form  and  say  that  it's  a  feeling 
and  not  a  reason,"  explained  the  host, 
as  he  put  the  bottle  back  in  the  cooler 
without  even  filling  up  his  own  glass. 


o: 'C- 


"  But  that  need  n't  prevent  your  hav- 
ing some,"  said  Lydia. 

"Thank  you,  but  the  *  feeling'  in- 
cludes me  as  well ;  so  you  see  that  it  is 
at  least  impartial.  The  fact  is,  if  1  had 
stopped  to  think,  Td  never  have  told 
)  Monica  to  bring  it/' 

"  But  it  makes  me  feel  bad  to  think 
that  you  are  depriving  yourself,"  said 
Lydia ;  "  and  it  does  n't  keep,  does  it  ?  " 

"  Not  over-well,"  answered  Mr.  Mur- 
chison,  biting  his  lip. 

"Then  please  don't  waste  it  on  my 
account,"  she  urged. 

"  It  can't  be  said  to  have  been  wasted, 
because  it  has  indirectly  saved  me  from 
a  very  solitary  dinner,  and  has  given  me 
my  cheer  in  a  pleasanter  form.    That 's 


XX' 


rather  a  selfish  way  of  speaking,  I  sup- 
pose, but  I  'm  not  going  to  pretend  that 
your  loss  has  n't  been  my  gain." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  such 
nice  things,"  responded  the  girl,  bright- 
ening, "  and  I  only  hope  you  really  mean 
them,  and  are  not  merely  trying  to  make 
me  feel  comfortable." 

"I  should  imagine  that  my  earlier 
treatment  would  have  convinced  you 
that,  whatever  else,  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  letting  my  feelings  and  my  words 
differ.  Well,  Monica,"  he  went  on,  as 
the  maid  reappeared,  "  what  further  deli- 
cacy have  you  for  us  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  chicken-poy,  sor,  an'  this 
peraties,"  she  catalogued,  as  she  banged 
them,  one  by  one,  on  the  table.    Then 


fo 


she  caught  up  the  soup-plates,  and  with 
A^'T^I  an  "Oi'll  be  bringin'  ye  war-rm  plates 
an'   some  cor-rn  in  wan  minute,"  she 
retired. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  pie-crust 
was  dried  to  a  state  of  hardness  that 
made  its  cutting  difficult,  and  its  eating 
J,  still  more  so,  but  the  diners  were  too 
r  hungry  to  be  critical,  and  Lydia  brought 
smiles  into  the  servant's  face  by  warmly 
praising  each  dish. 

"  'T  'is  yesilf  knows  what 's  what," 
said  Monica,  reciprocating  the  praise. 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  've  done  to 

my  cook,"  remarked  Mr.  Murchison  in 

one  of  her  absences ;  "  I  've  never  seen 

her  so  good-tempered  and  willing." 

"  One  can  do  so  much  more  in  this 


Jl^^ 


world  by  praise  than  by  criticism,  and  it 's 
so  much  better  for  one's  own  nature,  as 
well  as  comfort,"  remarked  the  sage  of 
eighteen. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me  why,  since  you 
are  so  fond  of  housekeeping  and  are  so 
well  fitted  for  it,  you  prefer  to  be  a 
teacher,"  inquired  her  host. 

*M  don't  prefer,"  replied  the  girl, 
frankly,  "  but  I  think  it  right.  Our  vil- 
lage is  so  small  that  there  is  very  little 
practice,  and  there  are  such  a  lot  of  us 
that  I  made  up  my  mind  I  ought  to  try  to 
support  myself." 

''  And  have  you  ever  taught  ?  " 

"No.  The  school  committee  would 
have  given  me  the  sixth  district  school 
this  autumn,  but  papa  thought  1  was  too 


'^M 


iV, 


young,  and  made  me  wait  till  next  spring. 
Of  course  I  hope  to  gtt  a  better  place 
some  day,  where  I  can  teach  interesting 
things ;  but  it 's  awfully  nice  to  begin 
that  way,  because  it 's  only  four  miles 
^^  from  Millersville,  and  so  I  can  live  at 
home. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  '11  mind  telling  me 
what  your  pay  will  be  ?  " 

"  Twenty  dollars  a  month.  Is  n't  it 
splendid?" 

"  And  for  that  you  walk  eight  miles 
every  day,  as  well  as  teach  ?  " 

**  Of  course ;  for  eight  miles  is  nothing, 
and  in  good  weather  I  '11  go  on  the  bicy- 
cle —  that  is,  whenever  one  of  my  sisters 
does  n't  want  to  use  it.  And  if  it  rains 
or  snows  very  badly,  I  've  agreed  on  a 


'0. 


\^ 


le  school, 
whenever- 


" Like  what?" 

*' Why  —  I  don't  know  exactly — but 
you  were  —  well,  if  it  had  been  in  a  car, 
I  should  term  it  staring." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  was,"  acknowledged 
Mr.  Murchison,  "  and  I  beg  your  pardon. 
The  truth  is,  I  was  making  a  discovery. 
Indeed,  I  might  say  I  was  making  two." 

"  And  what  were  they  ?  " 

"  The  first  one  was  that  I  'm  a  fool ; 
which  resulted  from  my  second  one, 
that  for  years  I  have  been  thinking  that 
a  certain  variety  of  the  genus  homo  was 
extinct,  merely  because  it  was  not  to  be 


met  with  in  the  city,  while  all  the  time 
it  was  flourishing  in  its  natural  habitat/' 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  understand  you." 
Whether  Mr.  Murchison  would  have 
explained  was  not  to  be  known,  for  a 
second  time  the  down-stairs  bell  jangled, 
and  both  became  listeners,  eager  to  know 
what  it  might  foretoken.  Their  ears 
were  first  greeted,  once  the  bell  had  been 
answered,  by  the  murmur  of  voices,  and 
then,  as  before,  by  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  stairs,  but  this  time  far  more 
ponderous  ones. 

"That  sounds  like  Monica's  alleged 
cousin,"  remarked  the  host,  and  his  sur- 
mise was  quickly  verified,  for,  preceded 
by  the  cook,  there  presently  appeared  a 
burly  policeman,  hat  in  hand,  both  that 


^rt" 


^A 


K^ 


88 

and  his  shoulders  well  covered  with 
snow. 

"  Good  avenin  to  ye,"  he  said,  with 
a  pleasant  smile  at  the  two  diners,  "  an 
Mrs.  Mooney  was  tellin'  me  that  ye  were 
afther  wantin'  a  kerridge." 

"  Yes ;  and  if  you  can  get  us  one,  I  '11 
be  very  much  obliged." 

"  Oi  don't  know  as  Oi  can,  for  't  is  a 
bad  noigt,  but  Oi  '11  do  me  best ;  an'  aven 
if  they  won't  sindout  no  cab,  't  is  loikely 
they  won't  moind  sindin'  a  sleigh." 

"  It  was  foolish  of  me  not  to  think 
of  that,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Murchison, 
"  though,"  he  went  on,  checking  himself, 
"  I  'm  afraid  you  are  hardly  garbed  for 
that." 

"Yes,  I  am,"  asserted  Lydia.    "My 


)r 


?r. 


ifH 


N 


cloak  is  as  warm  as  warm  can  be,  and  1 
never  take  cold.  Anything  they  '11  send 
will  do,  really." 

"  An'  wheer  do  ye  want  it  to  go  to  ?  " 
questioned  the  roundsman. 

"To  4  West  Fifty-sixth,"  spoke  up 
^  Lydia. 

"  Sure,  'tis  not  loikely  they  '11  moind 
such  a  little  trip,"  said  the  officer. 

"Tell  them    I'll   pay  extra  for   it," 
'  directed  Mr.  Murchison  ;  "  and  there  '11  ^ 
be  something  for  you,  if  you  can  help 
us." 

"Thank  ye,  sir;  but  that's  not 
needed,"  replied  the  man,  turning  to 
go. 

"We'll  settle  that  later  on.  Come 
back,    anyway,   for   something  to   eat 


and  a  glass  of  champagne,"  continued 
Mr.  Murchison,  pleasantly.  *'  And,  by 
the  by,  how  is  Monicas  niece?"  he 
inquired,  smiling. 

**  Phwat  niece?"  asked  the  putative 
relative. 

"Sure,  whose  niece  should  it  be," 
broke  in  Monica,  "  but  Mary,  as  ye 
promised  to  bring  me  word  av  this 
very  avenin'?    Is  her  cold  betther?" 

"  Ah,  go  'long  wid  yere  jokin',"  re- 
torted the  man.  "  Oi  don't  know  what 
ye 're  pokin'  at  me,  but  Oi  don't  bite 
on  no  rubber  sandwich,  not  me." 

"  Go  'long  wid  yeself,"  snapped  the 
cook,  crossly.    "Go   git   the   carriage, 
an'  don't  shtand  wastin'  toime  here." 
her  action  to  her  advice,  she 


e: 


r/^^^ 


% 


caught  him  by  the  arm  and  half  shoved,  _^ 

half  led  him  through  the  doorway.         !  fl 

"Oh,  do  you  think  he  can  ^^'^'^'^'^'''^^^Slfi^L 

^OS^sked  Lydia.  \J^\ 


.A.-:; 


t 


r^ 


"For  a  certainty;  so  put  yourself 
quite  at  your  ease." 

"That's  such  a  relief/'  sighed  the 
girl. 

"  It  is  to  me  as  well,  for  I  was  wor- 
rying over  what  we  should  do,  having 
little  hope  that  Monica  would  succeed 
any  better  than  Richards." 

As  if  the  uttering  of  the  name  had 
exorcised  some  spell,  the  butler  entered, 
I  or  rather  sneaked  into,  the  room,  a  spec- 
tacle indeed,  for  from  his  head,  which 
was  a  mop  of  wet,  bedraggled  hair,  were 
dripping  little  streams  of  water,  which 


^^K 


ran  down  an  already  well-soaked  coat 
and  shirt-front. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  about  dinner,"  he 
said,  still  with  a  thick  utterance  and 
blinking  confusedly,  "but  I  wash  taken 
bad  and  —  " 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  get 
so  wet?"  demanded  the  master. 

"  Yes,  sir  —  I  —  it  —  I  wash  taken 
faint,  sir,  an'  —  an'  when  I  recovershed, 
the  offish  —  the  offish  — "  the  man  aban- 
doned the  difficult  word  —  "  the  poleesh 
—  the  poleesh  —  "  again  he  gave  up  the 
attempt  —  "a  friend  wash  holdin'  my 
head  under  the  fashet,  an'  then  I  re- 
membered about  dinner." 

"  Well,  we  don't  want  you,"  said  Mr. 
Murchison,  sternly,  "  and  you  will  go  to 


J:^f^r 


1^1 


your  room  at  once,  and  not  show  your- 
self again  to-night.    Understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  meekly  answered  the  ser- 
vant, only  too  glad  to  hasten  from  the 
room. 

Barely  had  he  disappeared  when  a  bell 
)  clanged,  this  time  not  the  familiar  jingle 
of  the  basement  door,  but  the  sharp, 
clear  note  of  a  gong,  and  the  next  in- 
stant the  sound  of  the  opening  of  the 
front  door  was  heard.  This  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  murmur  of  voices,  and  then 
by  a  rustle  of  a  woman's  skirts,  and 
suddenly  Mrs.  Travers  came  to  a  halt  in 
the  doorway. 

"  Lydia  I "  was  all  she  said,  but  the 
tone  and  the  horrified  look  in  her  face 
told  the  rest. 


1^-i^Tt^ 


^^ 


k 


94    I 

"  Oh,  aunty,"  cried  the  girl,  springing 
to  her  feet,  **  1  'm  so  glad  I  How  good 
of  you  to  cornel  But  how  did  you 
know?" 

"  Put  on  your  cloak  at  once  and  come 
with  me,"  directed  her  aunt,  sharply. 

"  Oh,  aunty,  won't  you  please  let  me 
tell  you  how  it  all  happened,  and  intro- 
duce—" 

"  Not  a  word,  Lydia ;  but  do  as  I  tell 
you,"  ordered  Mrs.  Travers. 

With  some  difficulty,  for  the  crutches 
were  out  of  reach,  Mr.  Murchison  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  said : 

"I  trust  you  will  let  me  explain  how 
little  Miss  Greenough  is  in  fault  in  what 
I  can  see  you  both  misjudge  and  blame." 

"  My  niece,  sir,  can  tell  nie  all  I  wish 


'^, 


.% 


[> 


95 

to  know,"  she  replied  as  icily  as  could 
be,  "  and  I  do  not  choose  to  stay  here  an 
instant  longer  than  we  must.  Come, 
Lydia,"  she  said  to  the  girl,  who  had 
hastily  thrown  on  her  wrap,  as  she 
moved  away  from  the  door. 

"  Yes,  aunty,"  came  a  frightened  ac- 
quiescence. Then  she  held  out  to  her 
host  a  hand  that  trembled.  "Thank 
you,  thank  you,  oh,  so  much,  for  being 
so  kind  to  me,  and  please  don't  think —  " 

"  Lydia,"  called  her  aunt  impatiently 
from  the  hall ;  and  leaving  her  sentence 
unfinished,  the  girl  added  an  "  Oh,  for- 
give my  not  saying  all  I  want  to  I ''  even 
as  she  ran  after  her  aunt. 

Finally  getting  to  his  crutches,  Mr. 
Murchison  hobbled  to  the  door,  just  in 


If. 


^.^ 


fl^r=== 


time  to  see  the  butler  close  the  front 
one.  "Did  you  answer  the  bell  just 
now,  Richards?"    he  asked  quietly. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  wash  jush  goin'  up- 
shtairs  when  I  hearsh  it." 

"  And  what  did  the  lady  say  ?  " 

"  She  ashks  for  young  lady,  sir,  an'  I 
tells  her  she  dinin'  wish  you  in  back 
room,  an'  then  she  hurrish  down  hall 
wishout  ashking  permission." 

"Very  well.    Go  to  bed." 

The  order  given,  Mr.  Murchison 
limped  back  to  the  center  of  the  room, 
and  stood  there  leaning  on  his  crutches. 
The  fire  had  died  down,  the  unfinished 
meal  was  on  the  table,  the  chairs  were 
askew,  on  the  lounge  was  the  shawl  in 
an  untidy  heap ;  everything  seemed  dis- 


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ordered  and  uncomfortable.  Yet  only  a 
moment  before  it  had  all  seemed  pleas- 
ant and  cheery.  He  slowly  looked 
about,  and  the  wall-paper,  the  carpet,  the 
furniture,  even  the  colors,  grated  upon 
him,  though  never  before  had  he  so 
much  as  noticed  any  of  them. 

"Allan  Murchison,"  he  said  aloud, 
"you  are  a  fool." 

Having  eased  his  mind,  he  did  a  like 
service  to  his  body,  by  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders ;  then  he  stumped  to  the  table, 
took  up  the  little  vase  of  violets,  and 
raised  them  to  his  face,  but  whether  to 
nose  or  lips  was  not  clear, 

"  And  having  discovered  it,  it 's  your 
own  fault  if  you  remain  one,"  he  ended. 


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Ma 


98 

And  Lydia  ? 

She  had  followed  after  her  aunt,  paus- 
ing only  to  snatch  up  her  bag,  and  with 
it  she  staggered  down  the  steps,  regard- 
less of  dress  or  safety. 

"  Get  in  before  me  I "  she  was  or- 
dered, and  then  the  one  word,  "  Home," 
was  called  to  the  coachman  as  her  aunt 
entered  the  carriage  and  banged  the 
door. 

"  Oh,  aunty,  please,  please  don't  speak 
to  me  so  1 "  begged  the  girl.  *'  Do  let 
me  explain  how — " 

"  Explain !  "  cried  Mrs.  Travers.  "  Ex- 
plain your  drinking  champagne  with  a 
strange  man  in  a  strange  house  ! " 

"  I  did  n't  touch  a  drop,"  protested  the 
girl,  *'  and  neither  —  " 


jesr^*-- 


,/W>->yT^ 


^■'^—- 


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^M 


"Lydia,  Lydia!   It's  all  too  terrible! 
And  to  think  what  would  have  happened 
if  Mrs.  Curtis  had  not  telephoned  "i^^lfflifll^Sji 
asking  me  where  you  were  I    That  such  ^  /l^m^f^, 
a  horrible  thing  should  —  "  w  '%rT^^ 

"Oh,  there  was  nothing  wrong  1   't  ||j^if'^!^<J 
was  a  dreadful  mistake,  my  getting  to""    ~      '* 
the  wrong  house,  but  —  " 

"  And  that  you  should  stay  there  a 
minute  in  such  a  place  — why,  that 
dreadful-looking,  drunken  brute  at  the 
door  should  have  prevented  you  from' 
even  entering  it.  And  then  your  ac- 
tually sitting  down  to  dinner  with  a 
man  —  " 

*'  But  I  did  n't,  aunty,  until  I  had  found 
he  was  a  gentleman." 

"  Gentleman  I     That    creature    in   a 


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smoking-jacket,  who  takes  such  advan- 
tage of  a  young,  ignorant,  and  silly  girl ! 
Gentleman,  indeed  I " 

know  if  you  'd  only  let  me  tell  you  all 
about  it.  And  you  must  have  seen 
what  a  fine  face  he  had." 

"With  his  hair  all  rumpled  and  in 
disorder." 

"  That  was  because  he  had  been  lying 
down  and  —  " 

"  Hush,  child  I  Not  another  word,  for 
you  only  make  it  worse.  Nobody 
knows,  for  Thomas  of  course  thinks  he 
brought  you  to  the  right  house,  and 
ril  manage  some  explanation  to  Mrs. 
Curtis ;  but,  oh,  what  can  I  say  to  your 
father  and  mother?" 


^s^''wV 


\U! 


will  tell  them  all  about  it,  aunty, 
and  they  will  not  blame  either  of  us," 
said  Lydia,  with  quiet  dignity. 

"Child,  child,  how  can  you  be  so 
blind  I  Don't  you  see  what  a  dreadful 
thing  it  has  been  ?  No,  no !  1  don't  want 
)  to  hear  anything  about  it.  The  harm 's 
done,  and  it  can't  be  bettered  by  any- 
thing that  can  be  said." 

And  so  her  aunt  talked  until  Lydia, 
'  ceasing  her  attempts  to  justify  herself, 
broke  down,  and,  her  beautiful  dress 
forgotten,  sobbed  and  sobbed  until  the 
house  was  reached.  There,  at  the  com- 
mand of  her  monitor,  she  hastily  dried 
her  eyes,  and  with  the  hood  of  her  cloak 
held  about  her  face  to  hide  the  tear- 
stains  from  the  footman,  she  fled  past 


The  breakfast-hour  at  the  Traverses', 
Christmas  morning,  was  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  Lydia  brought  to  it  a  very  pale  face 
and  very  red  eyes,  and  she  showed  such 
listlessness  and  want  of  appetite  that  Mr. 
Travers,  who  at  first  was  wholly  absorbed 
in  narrating  how  the  snow  had  impeded 
his  getting  up-town  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  was  held  in  an  elevated  train  over 
four  hours  and  did  not  reach  home  till 
after  eleven,  finally  forgot  his  own  troubles 
long  enough  to  comment  upon  her. 


seems  to  have 
done  you  up  pretty  badly,  little  girl/'  he 
said.  "  Ah,  country  folk  can't  stand  up 
to  the  racket  that  the  city  ones  do.  How- 
ever, cheer  up,  for  I  ve  a  nice  present  for 
you  in  the  library.  And  here 's  another, 
]\  '11  be  bound,"  he  added,  as  Morland  ap- 
peared and  handed  her  a  package. 

"He's  to  wait  for  an  answer,"  the 
servant  announced. 

Slowly  Lydia  unknotted    the  string 

and  opened  it.    Within  were  two  letters, 

and  —  she  flushed  suddenly  as,  lifting 

'^^  them,  she  found  underneath,  the  familiar 

"  Chemisch-Technisches  Repertorium." 

"  Hello  I "  exclaimed  her  uncle.  "  What 's 
all  this  blushing  about  ?  Let 's  see  your 
printed  valentine,  Lydia." 


.«: 


m 


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Without  a  word  the  girl  handed  him 
the  magazine,  and  then  looked  at  her 
two  letters.  One  was  without  any  in- 
scription on  the  envelope ;  the  second 
was  addressed  to  her.  Breaking  it  open 
she  read  as  follows : 


Christmas  morning. 

Dear  Miss  Greenough  :  —  I  fear  that  unin- 
tentionally I  have  been  the  cause  of  your  being 
blamed,  and  as  I  deserve  any  that  is  deserved,  I 
have  written  in  the  enclosed  envelop  a  full  ex- 
planation of  the  circumstances,  which  should  save 
you,  at  least,  from  all  criticism.  Will  you  kindly 
hand  it  to  your  aunt,  with  an  apology  for  the  fact 
that,  not  knowing  her  name,  I  cannot  properly 
direct  it  ? 

1  also  send  you  the  magazine,  in  the  hope  that 
your  leaving  it  behind  was  due  to  the  suddenness 
of  your  departure,  and  not  to  a  desire  of  escaping 
from  it. 


My  doctor  has  been  to  see  me  this  morning,  and 
I  told  him  that  I  would  consent  to  be  a  "  lounger " 
no  longer.  My  insistence  has  led  him  to  put  the 
ankle  in  a  plaster  jacket,  and  I  can  now  gtt  about  ]^ 
with  one  crutch  better  than  I  could  yesterday 
with  two,  and  so  I  write  this  to  ask  permission  to 
call  upon  you  this  afternoon,  partly  that  1  may 
justify  our  conduct  to  your  aunt,  and  partly  in 
the  hope  that  I  may  renew  an  acquaintance  I 
should  like  to  continue  and  strengthen. 
Sincerely  yours, 

Allan  Murchison. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  much 
Christmas  present,  Lydia/'  laughed 
Travers.    **  Who  sent  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  from  Mr.  Murchison 
the  girl  quietly.    Then  she  turned 
her  aunt.    "  Here  is  a  letter 
which   he  asks   me   to  give 
and  this  is  his  letter  to  me. 


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please  tell  me  what  answer  I  ought  to 
make?" 

"  Not  the  Murchison  who  writes  this 
article  ?  "  queried  her  uncle. 
.^^      "  Yes." 

"  Pray  how  did  you  come  to  know 
Allan  Murchison?" 

"  I  met  him  last  night,"  said  Lydia, 
slightly  shivering. 

"And  he  sends  you  a  letter  and  a 
magazine  before  ten  this  morning  I  Good. 
You  evidently  made  a  conquest  at  your 
first  dinner,  little  girl,  and  a  good  one  at 
that.    I  'm  sure  you  liked  him." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  him, 
Charles?"  demanded  Mrs.  Travers, 
looking  up  with  surprise. 

"Well,  rather  I    He's  the  consulting 


&. 


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chemist  of  the  Standard  Chemical  Com- 
pany, and  sometimes  he  's  called  into 
our  board  meetings/' 

"  Indeed  I  "  said  the  wife,  showing 
more  interest.  "  And  —  and  what  kind 
of  position  is  that  ?  " 

**  Oh,  a  very  responsible  and  impor- 
^tant  one." 

"  No.    I  mean,  is  it  well  paid  ?  " 

Mr.  Travers  laughed. 

"  We  pay  him  thirty  thousand  a  year, 
which  our  president  says  is  n't  enough, 
and  I  've  heard  that  he  earns  as  much 
more  out  of  the  royalties  for  some  dis- 
coveries he's  made.  I  know  he's  one 
of  our  large  stockholders,  and  that 
doesn't  tend  to  poverty." 

"  Dear  me !  '*  exclaimed  Mrs.  Travers, 


if 

mm 


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with  a  most  eloquent  intonation.  She 
looked  at  the  pale  girl,  and  seemed  to 
hunt  for  something  adequate  to  say; 
not  finding  it,  she  settled  back  in  her 
chair,  and  very  deliberately  read,  first 
the  letter  to  Lydia,  and  then  the  one 
to  herself.  Evidently  they  gave  her  the 
means  of  retreat,  for,  once  they  were 
finished,  she  again  looked  at  the  girl 
with  a  smile  that  had  a  world  of  sunshine 
in  it,  and  said  : 

"  My  dear,  I  find  I  was  misled  by  ap- 
pearances last  night,  and  that  I  spoke 
far  too  harshly.  Mr.  Murchison  writes 
in  a  way  that  proves  him  to  be  a  gentle- 
man. 

"  And  what  answer  shall  I  make  him, 
aunty?  ''  cried  the  girl,  joyfully. 


I09 

Mrs.  Travers  hesitated. 

**  Write  him  your  thanks,  child  ;  noth- 
ing more." 

*'  But  he  asks  if  he  may  call,"  Lydia 
reminded  her  aunt,  shyly  but  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  but  you  need  n't  say 
)  anything  about  that  —  because  I  shall 
send  him  a  letter  by  the  same  messenger, 
asking  him  to  eat  his  Christmas  dinner 
with  us,  so  that  we  may  thank  him  for 
all  he  did  for  you.'' 

And  to  this  day  Allan  Murchison  often 
speaks  of  his  wife  as  "My  Christmas 
Present." 


